


And I know we go deeper than skin

by PoltergeistPanda



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Dem bois being adorable, Fluff, M/M, Steampunk AU, a teensy bit of angst, all the other paladins appear on the side or are merely mentioned, almost no angst only floof, klance, klancevday2021, klvalentines, klvday2021, mentions of angst, shite ton of hand holding, soft bois, soft boys in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29584884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoltergeistPanda/pseuds/PoltergeistPanda
Summary: Lance is laughing with the pipes blowing out steam, his goggles bouncing on his head, face smudged with oil and coal while he slides around another corner and hikes over a few barrels in their way. Keith follows him, caught on the sheer joy the other boy shows on his face, glowing in the early rays of sunlight.This time, it's him almost crashing into a wall if not for Lance’s hand grabbing onto his and pulling him back, into an alley, narrow enough that suddenly, there is barely enough air to breathe. They duck under a wider pipe, wince at the shrill cry of steam escaping its confines with Lance pressed close to Keiths front as they sneak into a better hidden corner.“Hopefully they won’t look here”, Lance whispers and winks at Keith, eyes sparkling with mischief, breath fanning across his cheeks and neck, smile stretched wide and hopeful and Keith... he stares. Their hands are still clasped together, calluses under his thumb, soft, softer, the softest skin on the back of the brown haired boy’s hands, fingers curled together like they were meant to.
Relationships: Keith & Lance (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	And I know we go deeper than skin

_ But what lies within _

Their mission should have been easy. 

Get in, steal the documents Pidge told them about, get out, and leave no one the wiser. 

Point is, maybe it wasn’t the best idea to send in Keith and Lance. As good as they could work together on paper, it was a completely different situation in real life when they could barely go five minutes without an argument. Or ten seconds on a bad day, really. 

At least their breakfasts don't get boring.

They did manage to grab the documents, though, and found a lab they raided for information on Shiro’s arm, so that’s a win. 

Keith breathes through his nose and pulls at Lance’s arm as they dash into a back alley and slide underneath a pipe, scrambling back onto their feet. Lance is  _ still _ complaining.

“One job! You had one job!” Lance hisses and ducks under another pipe, barks a laugh when the guards behind them crash into it. “But no, you just had to go and pick a fight!”

“They were talking shit about Shiro! And you were supposed to keep quiet, but who almost set off the guards with his yammering?” Keith slams into a gate and pushes it open, waves his comrade through, and closes it right in the face of another guard. Locks it for good measure. “Also, I wasn’t the one who threatened to shoot someone if they didn’t shut up right about now.”

“What can I say,” Lance grins. “Shiro is my friend as well.”

Screaming behind the door, someone slams into the iron structures, the iron hinges creak dangerously and both boys share a glance.

“Right. We were fleeing.”

How the Galra managed to find them, they will never know, but what little of the soldiers they managed to shake off, even more find them in the next alley and they are left with no other choice but to change course entirely.

Lance is laughing with the pipes blowing out steam, his goggles bouncing on his head, face smudged with oil and coal while he slides around another corner and hikes over a few barrels in their way. Keith follows him, caught on the sheer joy the other boy shows on his face, glowing in the early rays of sunlight.

This time, it's him almost crashing into a wall if not for Lance’s hand grabbing onto his and pulling him back, into an alley, narrow enough that suddenly, there is barely enough air to breathe. They duck under a wider pipe, wince at the shrill cry of steam escaping its confines with Lance pressed close to Keiths front as they sneak into a better hidden corner.

“Hopefully they won’t look here”, Lance whispers and winks at Keith, eyes sparkling with mischief, breath fanning across his cheeks and neck, smile stretched wide and hopeful and Keith... he stares. Their hands are still clasped together, calluses under his thumb, soft, softer, the softest skin on the back of the brown haired boy’s hands, fingers curled together like they were meant to.

Maybe it's the closeness.

Maybe it's adrenaline coursing through his veins, but Keith is dizzy and he wants to press a laugh into the space between them, fill it up with only them and nothing else, it’s just right here, squished together in a space far too cramped for two grown men but they make do. They fit.

Lance has a smudge of dirt on his nose and the leather strap of his goggles is dangling precariously over his curls. It almost makes the shorter man want to reach up and snap it back into place. If they had the space.

Their eyes meet and Keith’s breath stops. Just for a fragment of a moment, long enough to think, ‘Oh, his eyes are beautiful,’” just for it all to fall apart when they hear the steps of Zarkon’s guards run past.

No one looks into their alley, hidden away as they are behind white steam rolling around their ankles and golden rusted pipes, the walls uneven enough to give the illusion of being far too narrow to fit a human inside. Or a Galra. Nevermind two grown men hiding from the authorities.

Lance presses his mouth into Keith's shoulder, hides a laugh in white linen, a red vest, his armor scratching at Keith’s scalp. Keith bites back a giggle and they... stay like that. Until the sun rises fully and the city comes back to life with voices that are light and airy, merchants and artisans, children.

Safety.

They fall out of their alley, crawl into a corner more hidden than most, and Lance falls over into Keith's side, laughs, relief plastered all over his face, shoulders shaking, lips trembling like he is barely holding back.

Their hands are still locked tight, sweaty and clammy and warm, so very, very warm.

And Keith is the one to let go as if burnt, as if Red’s fire tore into his fingers and scorched the memory of scars and constellations into his palms.

Lance grinds up at him, Keith scoffs and looks away, helping him up.

“We did it,” Lance whispers, raw and happy and proud, “We did it. We have the intel.”

“We are not yet safe. Red and Blue are waiting,” he interjects and points down a street. “This way, I think.”

The way back to their lions is a short one, just a spark of luck, but Lance walks closer than intended and their pinkies brush and Keith almost, almost twines them together to keep him close.

He doesn't.

_ Is still deeper than we know _

Keith may or may not forget about their moment.

At least they don’t really talk about it and he tries not to think about it all that much. Or at all.

But it changes things, especially since they all live together and he sees Lance every single day before they rush off to their respective classes, breakfast wolfed down and no one ready for another day of lectures when they are all this intertwined with a war just beyond their doorstep.

It’s one of the many things that floods his mind these days, the war, his heritage, his mother somewhere on Daibazaal, and his blood singing whenever he steps through the gate to the hangar the lions hide in.

He keeps pondering, wondering, and his dreams circle over possibilities and terror rushes through his veins into a cascade of emotions. Circle around heated skin and vibrant blue and a soft voice in his ear, subdued by the screech of technology around them.

Which is how he finds himself in the kitchen now, fingers curled around an empty mug and staring listlessly into empty space.

“Mullet?”

Lance? 

He leans his head to the side, a silent indication of his attention, as someone takes the mug out of his hands and sets a carton of milk down beside it.

“Can’t sleep?” Lance shoos him aside, plucks the honey from the shelf above and starts on their drinks. “Nightmares as well?” He is still smiling, that curl of his lips that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, the one Keith learned early on Lance uses to hide away behind.

He wants to ask if it's homesickness this time or something else. He doesn’t. 

Actually, he doesn’t do many things he wants to when it comes to Lance, except for snarking.

He is not in the mood for an argument now, not now, at whatever o’clock in the morning, with darkness wrapping a blanket of silence around them.

Their pot whistles a horrible sound of anguish, they both flinch, wince. Lance grabs their mugs and nods to the balcony, his smile slipping into a wistful grimace. 

Keith follows. 

Outside, the air is charged with a storm brewing, an omen, if anything, and they settle down in their ancient, rickety chairs, the ones Hunk managed to scour ages ago and then forgot to repair. They still squeal all over the place and shake in regret the second someone tries to sit down. Hunk doesn’t. Lance sets their milk down, huddles deeper into his shirt, flimsy and worn thin as it is.

Keith gets them blankets. Throws one into Lane’s face, the other over his own legs, falls backwards into his seat and stares up into grey and black clouds, searching for that thin sliver of moonlight.

Something warm brushes his hand and he grabs it. It’s Lance’s fingers, long and callused, scars lining their tips, ones he follows without daring a glance towards the other man. Lance shudders beside him, moves closer, the chair squeaks on the tiles, rustling fabric, an almost content sigh.

They don’t talk about this tomorrow as well, but in a few days, they will find each other again. Like a tradition. Like they found their lions, their souls clinging in empty space, swirling around each other in a semblance of camaraderie and connection.

Warm hands intertwined and mugs left forgotten on the floor, steam rising higher than it does in Daibazaal.

_ And for all this pantomime _

It’s a stumble and a fall in the right direction.

Just training, his mind whispers, there is nothing to it. And yet, whenever Lance does manage to grab him, whenever Keith’s hands close around Lance’s wrists, whenever their fingers brush just for a second longer than necessary, it strangely feels like flirting.

In battle. Which is bad and not at all what Keith should be thinking about when Lance is advancing in a speed that rivals Pidge these days. 

Keith ducks under a kick and swipes his own leg underneath Lance’s, causing the other man to fall, follows up with grasping his hands and pressing them into the floor, straddling Lance’s waist. They both breathe in. Lance grins, wide and not even a little bit bitter, fingertips tracing that faint scar Keith has between his thumb and index finger, teeth showing as he rolls them over and winds his hands out of the hold, hand on Keith's chest, throwing him off and struggling back on his feet.

One step to the side and two steps back, just to turn around and attack again.

Still, it’s a short victory when Keith manages to wrestle him to the ground again, a tackle and another crash this time, his thumbs press into Lance’s pulsepoint, feeling the erratic heartbeat, skipping beat after beat after beat when Keith feels his hair coming undone from his ponytail. He feels the gasp as a rush of air past his ear, they are that close.

Too close, maybe. He should let go. 

“Mullet?” Lance breathes into the space in between the two of them. “Are you planning to let go anytime soon or…?”

“Sorry,” Keith scrambles back onto his feet, neck hot, reaches out and offers his friend his hand to help him up and the other accepts with a bark of a laugh, keeps them connected even when he is back on his feet, tapping the skin on his wrist, touch lingering for a moment that sends Keith’s heartbeat ringing, here, in the privacy of them training.

Just right and not quite enough, a yearning to reach out and… 

Lance lets go. 

His palm turns cold now, already missing the warmth of another and he balls his hands into a fist to preserve at least some of it.

_ You should see the state I'm in _

Their moments spent together change things more and more, with time.

Even though he has never been all that fond of skin contact, not after his Dad dying, his mother disappearing, and whatever happened to Shiro, Keith still finds that he craves Lance’s touch now. Simple brushes against his shoulder when they pass each other on the way to the bathroom. Arms lined up at the counter while cutting vegetables for Hunk. Legs sprawled over his lap, Lance taking up all the space on the couch and Keith too stubborn to just throw him off. Instead he finds himself tapping small patterns on the miniscule sliver of bronze skin between socks and pants, rubbing over the ankle and, on the rarer occasions, when he feels safe enough, when they are alone, tickling Lance. It tends to end with a foot in his face and Lance laughing at his pain and misery but… Keith doesn’t mind, not the teasing and his nose throbbing, not when Lance laughs like there is nothing wrong in their world, like there are no finals drawing the Sword of Damocles over their heads and a noose around their necks, like there is no war brewing in the streets. Like this, they are nothing more but two boys, two friends, spending time together and playing little, foolish pranks on each other.

Lance is beautiful like this, Keith thinks, and throws the thought aside the same moment. He relishes in this closeness instead, freely given, freely taken, a gift wrapped in sunshine and warmth.

He noticed it early on, how Lance would grasp Hunk and Pidge’s hands just before they set off for battle, just holding them for a few moments, staring at his friends and then letting go. He does it with Coran, then with Allura and Shiro, and now he is standing right in front of Keith, reaching out, and Keith is the one to close the last few inches, sliding their palms together and offering the other boy a hopefully real smile.

“Be careful”, their touch says, “Stay safe out there.”

Don’t fall.

Don’t go where I can’t follow.

Their connection is one forged in blood and iron and one settled in the dead of night with a promise of tomorrow, because they can never promise forever these days.

Keith is fine with a tomorrow. And a day after.

He draws closer and presses his forehead against Lance’s armor, breathes in. Out.

Presses Lance’s hands to his chest and lets go.

Eyes follow his every step to Red and when he climbs inside the construct, Red purrs all around him, loud enough to conceal the mortified scream he cries into the console, face burning, eyes wide, realization crashing into him like a sledgehammer. Or like Red into one of Zarkon’s Robeasts when she believes that her paladin might be in danger.

Huh, so this is what being in love feels like.

He hates it already.

_ I couldn't heal myself with time alone _

It’s over, they scream, rebels and Blades alike, The battle’s over. Pidge is cursing up a storm into their comms, while Hunk sounds like he’s crying. 

Shiro is congratulating everyone, and Lance... 

Lance is quiet. 

Keith notices that pretty fast, the utter silence when usually, there would be a cheer and some sort of comment, anything, but he’s quiet.

And that is more worrying than anything else.

He can see the lion outside, perched on one of the higher buildings. Blue’s pipes steam a dark grey, almost black really, staining her golden armor into something just as worn and tired as they all are, tears lining her sides. Her antenna is missing. He can see her windows, but he can’t see into the cockpit, for the glass is broken into a spider's web.

He might be hurt, Lance might be hurt.

Keith takes off, urges Red up to Blue’s side and then around, so the construct knows to follow him back.

Blue and Red get back to the hangar in record time and Keith is out of his seat faster than humanly possible, Red’s maw opening barely halfway until he’s dashing out and over to Blue, desperation burning all over his skin, his breaths mingling with the steam Blue emits when she allows him inside. 

He almost crashes into a wall, bites back a curse, slides over polished bronze metal and his fingers, stained with oil and rust and blood after the last fight, still aching from the battle, reach out to the seat and he whirls it around, purple meeting an exhausted blue, darkened by sorrow and something eternally soft when he recognizes just who is standing in front of him.

“You… I was worried,” Keith heaves and pulls Lance up, hands sprawling over his friends arms, sides, checking for injuries. Just in case, just in case, his heart hammers into his bones in morse code, we have to make sure he is alright.

A few scrapes, scratches in his face, probably from hitting the console during the fight, but nothing serious, nothing broken, nothing punctured. 

Lance topples forward, presses his face into Keith's shoulder, his own hands twisting in between Keith's fingers where they are still grabbing his hips, pulling them away and keeping them hanging intertwined at their sides. 

“I’m okay,” he whispers. “I’m okay, just tired. We won. It’s over.”

“Not even close, but I know what you mean,” Keith groans at the thought of what's to come, laughs his relief into dark curls. “We still have to fix what the Galra did to this place. And I…”

“You have to find your Mom. We all know that, Samurai,” a breathy laugh, nose pressed into his collarbone. “Leave the smart talks to Allura. She is the one with the training for that anyway. We won. Keith we won.”

A sob.

Keith pulls him closer and buries his face in the soft hairs above Lance’s ear, huffs and grins and breathes.

Right. It’s actually over. The fight is over, all that's left is the aftermath and that will be manageable. Can’t be much worse than exams.

Something rumbles outside, thuds, the other lions landing and their moment breaks in a bubble of more cheering. Hunk busts into Blue, grinning from ear to ear, sweeping up both boys into his arms, squeezing them close until Keith has to pat his arms and wheeze out a “Hunk.. air… can’t breathe!” and Lance laughs.

And isn’t he beautiful, when he laughs. Their eyes meet again over Hunks arms and the other boy mouths a gentle “Thank you”, one Keith acknowledges with a nod.

He blames his face heating up on the lack of air.

Later, Hunk throws him a glance, eyes wide and guilty, like he just realized, “Wait, did I ruin a moment?”

Keith only sighs and kicks at him, “No.”

“I totally did, didn’t I?” Hunk dodges the attack and slaps his back, eyes trained on Lance sitting on the counter and pestering Pidge about repairs for Blue, while Hunk turns away to rummage in the pantry for dinner ingredients.

“Shut up.”

Lance looks up, grins. “Is that a blush I see, Mullet?”

Keith grants him a deadpan stare and then turns to Hunk with a more pointed one, “What moment?”

Their yellow paladin laughs. “Nevermind.”

_ I have you tattooed on my skin _

So, blushing. 

Keith does that a lot lately.

Mostly whenever Lance walks past and their fingers brush, leaving a burning trail in their wake, or when they are eating breakfast by themselves, when Shiro is up and about and long since gone, Hunk and Alluira downstairs in the shop and Coran off for peace talks, Pidge still asleep. Lance likes grabbing his hand then, smiling, face glowing, eyes twinkling in mischief, as he presses kisses on Keiths knuckles.

It’s their mornings, when Keith turns his hand around, neck still burning and pulls him closer, until their foreheads touch in the morning light, golden rays illuminating those treasured freckles on Lance’s throat and shoulders, tracing constellations on warm skin.

They smile. 

They laugh.

The war is won, they don’t have to hold hands for comfort anymore, even though they do, because Keith’s mother is still out there and they still haven't found her, but now, they have time for that, days and weeks no longer getting lost in between their fingers, dripping in waves of sand off their fate, instead they lose it in each other, in smiles and touches, in contact grounding them home.

Instead, they add their touches to the peaceful way to the university, press their bodies together on the couch when they are all gathered in a circle and spending time as a family, when they meet after a flight in their lions. For fun, now. To see the city without tyranny and pain, in the softest moments of golden light, dawn or dusk, they don’t care.

Lance is beautiful anyway.

And Keith presses his wrist dappled in blue stars to Lance’s red ones and they laugh.

Laugh as their hands meet and hold. 

**Author's Note:**

> FINALLY allowed to post it i was so freaking giddy to post this omg.  
> Soooo, lets just say that i will come back to this AU and write more for it, because i have LORE i need to use and imma dying to write a lot right now :D  
> Klance and Voltron are fandoms that i will always return to bc they gave me theWORLd omg. almost the same standing as kh, but kh is my number one fandom of all time :D But voltron is damn close.  
> It got me my SO and i will always love the red and blue aesthetic, it is so precious :3  
> So, enjoy steampunk boys and steam lions, i will come back to this, once i get my other projects done^^  
> And happy late valentines day everyone^^ Esc my giftee ponpaca, i hope you liked this :333


End file.
